


Tales of Mayhem

by Half_PintGladiator



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Control, Death, Dominance, Drabble Collection, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hypnotism, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss, Murder, Needles, Paranoia, Post-Break Up, Public Sex, Sensation Play, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_PintGladiator/pseuds/Half_PintGladiator
Summary: A collection of Borderlands drabbles-- some darker, some smuttier. Contains kink and crackpairings.
Relationships: Amara/Butcher Rose, Amara/Moze (Borderlands), Angel/Gaige (Borderlands), Athena/Steele (Borderlands), Lilith/Patricia Tannis, clay/zane, moze/ember
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	1. Snapping (Nisha)

In the grand scheme of things, she should have been elated to finally have a challenge. She finally was able to fight Vault Hunters, bandits worthy of her time and her bullets. But instead, paranoia gnawed at her mind. She jumped at shadows, she flinched at every tiny sound in her Lynchwood home. 

All it had taken was one intercepted Echo. One message that wasn’t meant for her ears, and yet, it fell into her lap. She had vague memories of the framed picture on his desk back in Helios. Some kid with blue eyes and freckles. She had always assumed it was a fake, used to get him more chicks. And then she got curious. 

Jack had changed when the Vault Hunters survived and started eating away at his defenses. His personal Echo line wasn’t as guarded-- hell, sometimes he even left the damn thing open. All it took was one sleepless night.  
\--

One night after he fell asleep after maybe two minutes in the sack. The device sat on the nightstand, message light flashing. Nisha lay awake, unsatisfied and restless. The blue light kept flashing, kept highlighting her lover’s sleeping face. Enveloped in shame and irritation, she rose, taking the Echo with her.

In his massive office, it was easy to find cover for the sound of a message playing. She didn’t even need to unlock it. Leaning against the wall, the noise of the Echo was drowned out by the decorative waterfall. 

“Jack, you’ve got to do something about Angel. Your--”

In the background there was a scream of pain, young and female. A crackle of static. 

“Look, Jack, your daughter is getting out of control. Either you speed up the process and up the Eridium dose, or we’re gonna lose the key.”

Nisha didn’t hear the rest of the message. She couldn’t. Not when her heart was a brass band echoing in her chest. Daughter. Jack had a kid. And to make matters worse, his ace in the hole, the siren he was using as a catalyst-- as he had drunkenly bragged to her-- was his kid.

She shut off the Echo. A quick keystroke made the message light flash all over again. Tracks covered, she sprinted up the stairs to his desk. The picture on the desk was face down. A fine layer of dust covered the back of the frame. It was even outlined in dust-- clearly it had not moved in some time. Pulse thundering, she flipped back the picture frame. 

The girl was young. Probably between eight and ten by her best guess. Black hair. Huge, blue eyes and freckles. She was smiling and holding up a peace sign with long fingers. She didn’t look much like Jack. Cute kid. There were no signs of tattoos until she looked closer at the image. On the girl’s palm, there was a smudged line, pale and out of place. It had been digitally touched up. Nisha’s blood ran cold. 

It took everything she could muster to not barge back into his bedroom and draw Law on him. When she lay down next to him, everything inside her screamed. From deep in the recesses of her memory, she could hear her mother mocking her, screaming at her and belittling her. She remembered how her mother had used her-- had used her sister. Used everything her beloved sister had until it was too much. 

\--

She kept her distance. She started making excuses whenever he called. Whenever he demanded booty calls. She’d let him rant and rave and threaten. Then he’d turn and plead for her to return. 

All the while, she combed Hyperion records, searching for anything tied to this Angel. To Jack’s hidden daughter. She was thankful at the first signs of Vault Hunter activity at the Lynchwood Station. She had been hearing his voice in her nightmares. His rage, the girl’s screams that eventually faded into her sister’s. Her mother’s mocking laughter. 

And then she watched. The Vault Hunters were too coordinated, their strikes almost too surgical, too strategic. It couldn’t have been Brick’s idea like they claimed. Even when she heard him over the Echoes. There was an ever-growing, creeping, lurching feeling in her gut. 

She stopped sleeping long before the first of their raids. Her mind kept buzzing, kept twisting her thoughts as the paranoia sank in. Her wall was covered in Hyperion blueprints. Lines of twine connected images. She had printouts of Jack’s scientists. There were connections everywhere, but they were jumbled, just as jumbled as her thoughts. 

Nisha amazed herself whenever she responded to their taunting. She was cold. Logical, rational, even. No signs of the maddening sickness that had been eating away at her in her bedroom turned office. She had to find the siren. Had to kill Jack. Clearly he had the Vault Hunters in his pocket, why else would they be there at her front door? 

He knew about the Echo message, he had to. He was just as paranoid, if not more than her. He was unhinged and dangerous. He had to know her every move, had to know what she was thinking. 

Around her, Lynchwood was ravaged. The Bank broken into and destroyed. Even more street fights broke out. Her best deputies were dead. They were coming for her. The world was closing in on her. 

And then suddenly, she was calm. She felt an odd peace as she watched the sun paint Lynchwood a bloody red. If they were there to kill her, then she was prepared to go out with a fight. It had to be on her terms. It was the only way to silence the screams in her mind. Someone had to know about the girl. Someone, someone had to break the chain. It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be her. 

\--

The siren’s screams still haunted her. She dialed out on her Echo, prepared to send out one last message. 

She had expected no response. After all, she and Scarlett weren’t exactly close-- at least not all the time. It had been a long time since they had last spoken civilly. Nisha clung to her last shred of sanity. The last of her dignity had fled when she punched in the Echo code.

“Nish? Well, it’s been a bloody long time.”

“Red, I don’t have much time.”

“Oh god, what did you do now?”

“I think Jack’s out to kill me.”

She heard a long, drawn out sigh over the line. Nisha downed her glass of whisky. She had been drinking constantly since the nightmares started. It probably wasn’t helping with her mind. But sometimes, it dulled out the sounds.

“Nish, you’re paranoid. Why would he want to kill his girlfriend? Unless you’re getting more attention than he is…”

“I know about his daughter.”

There was a pause and then a sputter. Clearly Scarlett had choked on a mouthful of fluid. Probably rum. 

“His what?”

“He has a kid. A siren. He’s using her to charge the Vault Key--- shit, I could be killed for telling you this. But, eh, what, the fuck, I’m probably about to die because of his damn flunkies.”

“Nish, slow down. You’re not making any sense. Are you drunk?”

“Been drunk for two weeks solid.”

“Nisha!”

Nisha swallowed back a lump in her throat. She could feel her defenses following and her grip on the world slipping even more. 

“Red, I’m scared.”

“Nisha, why do you even care about this girl? Why don’t you just go and kill the bastard or run off somewhere until it all cools down? I heard you’ve got a case of Vault Hunters over there--”

“She’s like my sister.”

Scarlett grew silent.

Gunshots echoed down the street. A deep male voice bellowed something about nipple salads. They didn’t seem to sleep either. 

“Nish, you do realize he probably doesn’t even know, right? You could get away with it.”

Nisha’s eyes welled with unshed tears. Heat flushed to her cheeks. The lack of sleep was getting to her. The alcohol. The screams that still rang like gunshots in her mind.

“I can’t. I hear her screams. Every night. I-- Red, she screamed like my sister. I hear my mom laughing. I’m-- I’m cracking up.”

“Don’t go and tell me you did something rash.”

She barked a harsh laugh. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be dead after high noon tomorrow.”

Scarlett’s voice sounded so distant. There was a haze around the world. Nisha wanted to vomit. Her eyes flicked across the twine covered wall. Each connection led to nothing. Nothing stopped the screams that haunted her. Nothing could calm the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. Not the bloodstains on the floor, not the fresh cuts on her wrists and legs. 

“Nisha, I’m really worried about you. Nisha, are you there?”

“Dead by high noon. I’m losing it. Can’t sleep. Can’t keep going. He’s out to get me. I know too much. If I’m dead, maybe the kid will live a little longer. Maybe, maybe she can get out. I can’t get to her.”

She was rambling, her voice breaking. Her tears stopped at some point. Her face was burning up. She could see her old dog and that baleful look. She hung up on Scarlett. Just before nodding off, she set the alarm on her Echo. She couldn’t afford to be late to this appointment. Couldn’t miss this meeting. 

She had a date with death. Maybe then the screams would stop echoing. Maybe she’d forget about the guilt she had kept suppressed. Maybe she’d come back as a ghost and haunt Jack for all of eternity. Anything had to be better than teetering on the edge.


	2. Sins of the Mother (Nisha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From last year's writing challenge. Much angst.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity that drew her to her mother’s home. Maybe it was the chance to laugh in her face as she lost all of her power to torment her. Maybe it was some sick and twisted sense of duty to a person she hated more than anything in the universe. 

The more rational part of her brain told her that it was natural to feel compelled to visit family-- she usually ignored that part of her mind. It wasn’t exactly rational to try to love a person that made your life hell and ultimately killed your sister… She hated her mother with a burning passion, nearly as much as she hated her father for eating his own damn bullet. 

Nisha wasn’t sure what had drawn her parents to each other. Probably the same thing that drew vault hunters to Pandora or moths to flame. In innate desire to destroy oneself in the guise of making oneself better. All that she knew was that she was bitter. And that the first step into tacky ass little shack that made her sick.

It was something else to see her tormentor so frail. To look at once dark ochre skin and shiny pitch black hair thinned and grey. Amber eyes had dulled and were no longer nearly as fierce. This was the woman that beat the shit out of her. The woman that laughed when her frenzied dog tried to tear her throat out. That drove her father to suicide.

And now… She was just so pathetic. Nisha barked out a harsh laugh even in the room that reeked of illness. She could practically smell the cancer in the room. But pure hatred burned behind those hazy eyes. And to think she used to be terrified of her mother. It felt good to laugh in her face. Laugh as she did, she never let her guard down. There was no room for mercy, not when the tiger was still in the room.

\--

The weather beaten shack was just like all the others on Pandora. The door creaked too much, the roof leaked on the rare occasion that it rained. They never had much, but somehow they scraped by, just like everyone else on the godforsaken planet. Bits of scrap metal leaned on the two bedroomed shack.

Somehow it looked worse than it did when she was a kid. Nisha had been dead certain that you got tetanus just by looking at the hovel. Her mom never was the one to uproot. No, she’d hold that ground until the day she died. After all, it was a family property left over from Dahl’s first days on Pandora. The Kadams were once praised as being a good mining family, a strong family. Pioneers, settlers. Only a handful of them survived the first five years on the planet.

Only one ever lived long enough to start a family. 

Maybe her mother was where she got her stubbornness. She pondered her family line as she leaned against a wall. Rust would stain the back of her jacket, but she didn’t give a shit. She was twenty-one and life was still pretty damn good. She lit a cigarette, shutting her eyes in a rare moment of peace. 

Nisha could still hear her mother’s rattling breath. Still smell the stink of sickness on her. Turbocancer. The disease of space travellers on shitty ships and living in shitty mining camps and mining with shitty equipment. If she cared, she would have reported it to some bureau. There was probably money in it somewhere. She didn’t really give a fuck. 

A modicum of glee made her shudder. She couldn’t put her finger on what was making her so happy to see her mother suffer. Sure, there was a nurse that came over from the settlements, but there really wasn’t anything that could be done. The Kadams had no money. It all went to booze. And cigarettes. And ammo. 

Nisha tapped the ash off the end of her roll-up, thoughtfully blowing out a cloud of smoke. She closed her eyes as she basked in the hot spring sunlight. 

Irony was that somewhere, on the other end of the galaxy, or the star system, they had family. Rich family. Doctors or engineers or some bullshit like that. If they had cared, her mother would have been cured in no time. Nisha savored that fact. She savored it the way a connoisseur would savor a fine vintage wine. It just rolled off the tongue. 

Ash scattered over the tip of her boot. She shuffled in the dirt, kicking up clouds of reddish dust. She was just beginning her rise as bandit queen. Or at least the queen of bandit slaughter. Unlike her father, she planned to finish what she started. She’d wipe out every last goddamn bandit on the shithole planet if it killed her. That thought almost made her smile as much as thinking about how her mother was going to die a godawfully painful death. 

The only problem was that the death wasn’t going to hurt enough. 

Nisha stumped out her cigarette. She released her breath, willing herself the nerve to look her mother in the face. It wasn’t that it was painful to see her suffer, far from it. It was the pain of keeping herself from finishing the job herself. 

The inside of the shack was dim. Old blankets covered the windows, though some were boarded up from old bandit raids. One window had actual curtains. They were in a hideous plaid work that had been sunbleached to hell and back. Dust motes floated listlessly on the air. Every room stank of impending death and decay. 

Nisha rounded a corner. She could hear the feeble sucking noise of her mother’s breathing. Those hollow eyes stared back at her. Like a hawk watching prey, they narrowed as she stepped foot into the living room; the sick room. 

The bed was too large for such a frail body. The old couches were gone, replaced by a ratty mattress propped up on a bunch of wooden pallets. A whole bar load of medications littered the coffee table top. The tv flickered soundlessly. 

Nisha didn’t dare look in the corner where the hospital style port a john stood. She pitied the nurse that had to clean that. An o2 generator clicked and hummed. Nisha finally looked back at her mother.

Once strong hands were reduced to bone. Her eye sockets were dark and deeply sunken. Her face looked too drawn, too skull-like. She distinctly remembered those strong hands wrapped around her throat and those hawk like eyes boring into hers as she got the shit kicked out of her over and over again. How those same hands stole the life from her beloved little sister.

Nisha kicked an empty liquor bottle, sending it skittering across the cheap linoleum floor. God, to think that this house was once considered a prized home on Pandora. A luxury suite for a mining family. Anger welled up in her. 

Her mother’s bedspread is a faded green. It once had ferns or some kind of fancy bullshit like that on it. It’s moth eaten and stained from years of use. There’s mildew on the end of the blanket. The old quilt is threadbare, just like everything her mother owned. 

She sat heavily on a milk crate that she was using as a bench. Her single leather satchel sat open on the floor. It didn’t hold much. She tried to breathe solely through her mouth. The stench was the worst up close to her mother. 

“I’m leaving tonight.”

Her mother’s angry eyes glittered like jeweled beetles on her dark brow. She could feel the vitriol and the loathing. Could hear her mother screaming ‘the wrong damn kid died, shoulda been you, you piece of shit’. Her father’s pleas. Loathing boils in her, stinging her throat like bile. Her knuckles go white from involuntarily clenching her fists. 

In her head she could picture herself stabbing her mother over and over again. And then stopping before she could bleed out. She’d wait until her mother was barely conscious and then hit her with an Atlas med hypo. And start all over again. 

Her jaw trembles with anticipation, with rage. She forces herself to neatly pack what was left of her few belongings. She already tastes whiskey on her lips and smells the gunpowder of a good fight. She ignores the messages piling up on her Echo. She’d catch up with Scarlett when she was far away. 

“Should’ve killed you myself.” Her mother mumbles.

Nisha bolts to her feet, fist clenched and poised to strike. She pictures whipping out her knife and the first stab. She bares her teeth as she restrains herself.

“Yeah, well, I should’ve fucking killed you first.”

She knew she fell for the bait. She always did. Her mother always knew how to get a rise out of her. The other way was if she brought up…

“ _Beti_ , you were always quick to temper.”

Nisha’s jaw aches from tension. Her heart hammers against her rib cage, threatening to break free. She snatches up her pack from the floor, turning without a glance back.

“Go ahead and drop dead, bitch. See if I fucking care.”

Long strides carry her out of the room, out of the house. She could hear her mother’s weak laughter following her. Her shame follows quickly. She doesn’t hear the choking and gasping. She doesn’t hear her mother sputter or the rattling coughs that leave the bedspread covered in flecks of blood.

All Nisha knew was that she needed to kill something. Needed to drown her anger in whiskey and blood.


	3. Brûlant pour toi (Moze/Ember)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure how I started shipping these two. I just know that I'm not sorry for what's about to follow.

Leather restraints, the smell of accelerants. Candles dotting the walls of Foxxi’s backroom. Moze’s heart was pounding, sweat beading down her back and pooling on the pleather chair. Ember had a way of making her sweat, making her nerves turn to live wires buzzing with excitement, buzzing with lust. She couldn’t help but grin despite being stark naked save for her dog tags. 

She squirmed with anticipation even before she heard Ember’s heels on the concrete. Her throat went dry when Ember sashayed into the room, flame dancing on the tip of her prosthetic’s finger. 

“Je suis désolé, did I keep you waiting?”

“I was starting to wonder if you wanted me to get started without you.”

She smirked despite knowing how vulnerable she was. Ember pulled out a single, tall candle, lips curling into a grin.

“Whatcha, whatcha got there?”

“I had an idea for a little something we could try.”

The flame sparked at the end of her fingertip. Moze swallowed dryly, even after the flame was snuffed. Warm metal brushed her cheek. Ember leaned over her, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“And remember, cheri, ze safeword is en flambé.” Her voice was huskier, deeper. 

Moze squirmed even before Ember lit the candle. The first dribble of wax on her skin made her gasp. Ember tilted the candle upright, raising her eyebrow.

“Don’t stop, I kinda like it.”

Her blood was buzzing, a grin twisting her lips even after the first few drips of crimson wax dotted her skin. Every night she spent with Ember was new, exciting. 

Inhaling deeply, she shut her eyes. Rivulets of wax trickled down her skin. She lifted her hands to the end of her restraints. A sharp slap to her wrist made her jerk. Wax dribbled down her arm. 

“Non, you have to wait, my art is not yet complete.”

Moze squirmed when she felt wax drip below her navel. Each pour was followed by a gentle touch, teasing her. It didn’t so much as burn, as it riled her up. Her fingers grazed over the pleather arm rests. It wasn’t a pained gasp that left her lips.

“Si jolie.”

Moze risked opening her eyes. She peered down at the trail of crimson running down body. She grinned when she spotted the careful path on her skin. Ember’s name stood out in brilliant red. 

The grin on Ember’s face had her twisting against her leather restraints. 

“Hmm, I had an idea, cheri. Perhaps you will find it to your liking.”

Moze groaned as Ember stepped away from her. She squirmed, pressing her knees together. Ember’s heels clicked over the concrete. The sight of Ember bending over the cooler had her grinning. 

The leather dug into her wrists, leaving her delicate skin chafed. The pleather chair squeaked under her as she writhed. She was sure that if Ember didn’t get her off soon, she was going to die. She craned her neck trying to peer over her lover’s shoulder. 

When she turned back, the wicked grin on her face made her groan. Something glistened in her hand. In a slow, smooth motion, she brought the object up to her lips. Her hips swayed as she walked. Moze’s teeth were clenched, her breathing sharp as Ember straddled her.

“Zere is more than one way to burn.”

Ember extended her tongue, showing her a glistening ice cube. Moze gasped. The first chilly kiss made her shiver. The trail of cold kisses didn’t get any better. Goosebumps speckled her skin. She bucked when Ember’s lips encircled her nipple. 

“Oh that’s not fair.” She breathed. 

Her lover let the ice cube roll to the tip of her tongue. She winked. 

The first touch of ice on her overheated skin sucked the air from her lungs. She swore stars danced across her vision. She felt Ember’s hand curl around her hip, moving her forward.

“Shhhhiiiiiiittttt.”

Her nails grazed Ember’s scalp, pressing her closer. Ember’s swift tongue had her on the edge.

“Fuck, fuccckkk--”

Moze sank back into the chair, sweat sticking her skin to the pleather. She shut her eyes, savoring the moment and the endorphin high. 

“Damn, you’re good.”

Ember’s smug smile made her heart skip a beat. She grinned when Ember straddled her lap again. Their noses brushed.

“Not sure how I can follow that up.”

“You’re clever, non? I know you’ll think of something. I can be very patient.”

The restraints sprung free under Ember’s touch. She massaged her chafed wrists, smirk still in place. She ran her hand up her lover’s back and then back down to cup her ass.

“You ever have sex in a combat mech?”

The gleam was back in her lover’s eyes. Ember took her hands in hers, guiding them up her body. Moze hooked her fingers in the cups of her corset.

“I don’t think I have.”

“You wanna?”

Ember’s lips ghosted over hers. 

“Pourquoi pas?”

“God I love it when you talk dirty.”

Moze tugged down Ember’s corset, grinning.


	4. Safety of Disbelief (Janey/Athena)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing with the writing challenge. I'm not sure what inspired this, but I am sad that I didn't have more content.
> 
> I'm the one with hollow eyes  
> I'm the one you now despise  
> I can never be all that you want from me  
> And I am broken, I will fail you constantly  
> Return to the way that you bleed for me  
> Return to the safety of disbelief  
> Safety of Disbelief, Light the Torch

It started with a door slamming shut. Somehow the reinforced steel door was twisted in its frame. The echo died out sooner than she expected. She held strong at first. And then the silence came. 

Janey’s knees sagged. She tightened her jaw, trying to force back hot tears. 

Hadn’t she been warned that this would happen? Didn’t she know deep in her heart that there was always that wild anger behind Athena’s eyes? It was never taken out of her, never. But the rage always left a trail. A path of destruction and sometimes even worse was the blood money. It had been an addiction. A delicate balancing act, one wrong move and it would topple over.

And it had. 

It had worked for so long. Everything seemed so normal, so… easy. The wedding had gone off without a hitch and they seemed so happy. At least it felt like happiness. The undercurrent was there, though. Lurking beneath the smiles and quiet moments. They tiptoed around that landmine, both lying to themselves that things were fine. 

Then Pandora changed. The destruction of Sanctuary had Athena on edge. Her anger started showing in new ways, rearing its ugly head. 

Janey would wake to an empty spot in the bed next to her. And Athena’s carefully stowed armor gone. She always tried to hide her disappointment and hurt. It was hard not to tear up when her wife returned home reeking of gunpowder and blood. It was even harder to kiss newly scarred skin. Some nights she was too rough, new callouses scraping over Janey’s skin. 

There had been plenty of nights she waited up until late only to find herself alone even after dawn trickled into Hollow Point. The few times she actually saw Athena, her wife brushed past her and all but passed out in their bed. Slowly the hours of being gone had become days. The final straw was when she vanished for nearly a month. 

Rocking on her knees, Janey fought back tears. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She was angry, so bloody angry. Cheating she could handle. It wouldn’t have been the first time, certainly wouldn’t be the last-- and they had both been guilty at some point. 

Long, slow, forced breaths. She counted. When Janey rose she was calm and collected. She started by collecting the wedding photos and the other knickknacks they had collected together. 

In their cluttered apartment, boxes were easy to find. She had a bad habit of holding onto old boxes-- one never knew how often a box would come in handy. The wedding album went in at the bottom of the box, the glass covering the photo of them at the altar cracked as it slammed onto the ground. 

Everything went into boxes. Every little item that Athena had touched, every scrap of junk that reminded her of her wife. She smashed most of the delicate things, so rare on Pandora. 

Janey started tripping over the boxes. She methodically stacked them, then started carrying them down to the garage. Maybe later she would throw them out. Maybe she’d find one of Athena’s hidden guns and riddle them with bullets. 

The anger started to cool when sweat trickled down her back. She staggered up the single flight of stairs from the garage to the apartment, arms sore from lifting and hauling junk. It took several attempts to get the door shut behind her. 

Janey huffed when she surveyed the damage. Yet another thing Athena had destroyed in her wake. 

The apartment was still as a grave. She brooded over a beer, staring darkly into space. 

\--

She had been careful to warn Janey that it could happen. But woeful Cassandra wasn’t heard either. And for a while, it was fun to pretend. Almost comforting to sink into a routine that wasn’t hers. To let the sleeping beast of her bloodlust lay slumbering. 

But this, this new freedom. God it felt good. The way blood spattered across her skin, the screams of pain. She had missed the rush, the thrill of the hunt. 

Life hadn’t been that exciting since those stupid would-be Vault Hunters drug her into the fray again. The fight with Brick and Mordecai had her blood singing, the thrill of nearly dying at the hands of the Firehawk and her firing squad started the stirrings in the shadow of her mind. 

She wasn’t really living with Janey. It was playing house, playing it normal. But there were things she did, things she snuck in when Janey was sound asleep.  
The Atlas she knew may have been gone, but the bloodlust had never really died. It was a sleeper command in her brain, perhaps even her soul. This was what she really wanted. She had her qualms, her morals, but shutting them out was a relief. 

The bandits never knew what hit them. 

Out here she was free. Her wrath and fury could be unleashed; the squall of destruction finally out in the open. 

“Are you craving chaos, bloodshed? Are you tired of being told no? Well the Children of the Vault have something for you.”

The message hounded her, rattling in her mind. Her Atlas stimulants had run out; there was nothing to keep her moving outside of her own need. She didn’t want to belong. Didn’t want to play by anyone’s rules. 

Her blood boiled under the hot Pandoran sun. Athena’s palms were itching, the craving was building. Needed more of the crimson on sand, on her armor. 

The Athena Janey knew was gone. Only Steele and Knoxx had seen this Athena, and she had watched their destruction with glee.


	5. Little One (Angel/Nisha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Named for the Highly Suspect song "Little One". Originally meant to be Nisha mourning Angel, but I just couldn't get into it.
> 
> As a side note: I headcannon Angel as being in her early 20s and Nisha in her late 20s.

Dust motes lazily streamed on the air, following the sunlight through the horizontal slats of the blinds. Angel watched their silent trek, blinking slowly in the light of a new day. Her body still felt heavy, but the pain was gone. She was sore, but more alive than she had ever felt.

Her fingers brushed over her cover. She expected something warm and fluffy, or if anything at least a cotton sheet. Instead her fingertips grazed cool leather. She inhaled. She picked up the scent of warm leather, cordite, a trace of sweat, and a hint of whiskey. Nisha. She didn’t lose the irony of the angel wings emblazoned on the back of the duster. Its weight was comforting. 

Dragging herself upright was a struggle. A slick sheen of sweat coated her forehead. Her teeth were gritted, her heart pounding from the effort. She swayed for a precarious minute and then managed to get herself back under control. She released a slow, relieved sigh. 

The room was surprisingly light and airy. While it was sparsely decorated, it was easily a room one could feel at home in. The stained wood door was left open just a crack, just so she felt less boxed in. 

Angel grinned. She was finally free. Weak as all get out, but free from Jack’s control. She was grinning right up to the moment the door opened the rest of the way. 

Her blood ran cold for a beat, but the panic was soon replaced with excitement. 

“Nisha!”

“Hey, kiddo. What’s got you grinnin’?”

“I’m finally free!”

Nisha’s gold eyes were surprisingly warm for once. The lawbringer only seemed to soften around her. Or maybe the warmth was easier to see when she wasn’t wearing her usual hat and duster. 

“Hell yeah, you are. Shoulda killed the asshole sooner for what he did to you.”

Angel felt the bed dip when Nisha sat down beside her. The box spring squeaked. 

They were quiet for a long moment. Eventually Angel spread her arms, beckoning for Nisha to come closer. She had to muffle a squeak as she was pulled into wiry arms. 

Warm lips against her temple eased what little tension she felt. 

“You sure your power isn’t making people all sentimental?”

Angel buried her face into Nisha’s collarbone. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

“Shit, then I am getting soft.” 

She sat back, peering into Nisha’s eyes. The first time they met, there was anger there. The eyes were cold, hardened with fury. As weeks turned to months, gold seemed to grow molten, then liquid. Nisha had gone from avoiding physical contact with her to holding her. 

“Is there anything wrong with being soft?”

“Nah, I just never thought I would be soft.”

Angel dared to test Nisha’s limits by laying her head on her shoulder. The sheriff would usually pull away fairly quickly when she had enough. But she was able to tolerate it longer every time Angel tried. She didn’t budge. If anything, Angel was completely shocked when Nisha planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 

“You’re really huggy, aren’t ya?”

“You’re the first other person I’ve gotten to touch since…” 

Nisha’s fingers brushed over her forehead and then over the ports on the side of her scalp. As far as soothing gestures went, it lacked finesse, but the point was made.

Angel leaned in closer, shutting her eyes. Nisha’s arm dropped and settled around her waist. 

“Hey, Nisha?”

A soft grunt was the sheriff’s only response.

“What are we?”

“Dunno. I don’t exactly have a word for it.”

“Well, we’re definitely not mother and daughter. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t let my mom touch me that way.”

Nisha stiffened. Angel could feel the heat radiating through her vest. She caught herself grinning at the thought that she made the tough as nails Sheriff of Lynchwood blush. 

“I swear to god, if you call me mom, I’m ending you.”  
“After all the work you did to save me?”

“I won’t be happy with it, but I don’t need that kind of complex.” 

“Do you love me?”

“I’m not sure. Love’s not usually a word I use.” 

Angel risked a glance up at Nisha. The sheriff was looking away from her, but there was the slightest play of smiles on her lips. Angel leaned up, letting her nose brush Nisha’s. 

“Hm. Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to get up today.”

She could just make out the flush to Nisha’s cheeks. It was faint, but definitely there. Nisha started pulling away, tugging at the collar of her shirt.

“You settle yourself down. I’m not taking you back to Nina if you push yourself too hard again.”

She knew she was grinning wolfishly when Nisha gently pushed her away. She broke into laughter, enjoying the rush. Even with her eyes closed to stop the flow of joyful tears, she knew Nisha was looking at her with a raised eyebrow. It only made her laughter worse.

“You’re something else.” There was the tiniest hint of laughter to her voice. 

Angel’s world started to tilt. The carefully crafted scene slipped through the cracks, the pieces falling away like sand between her fingers. 

“Rggh, Angel, what the hell are those bandits doing?”

His voice broke through it all. Her fingernails grazed her scalp, digging crescents into her exposed skin. Static shot up her spine and into her head, leaving her gasping for breath. She sputtered and coughed, curling in on herself. 

“Angel, what the fuck are you thinking?”

Her digistruct wings curled around her. Blood dripped from between her lips. Her holoscreens all showed the vault hunters running through Thousand Cuts with Brick, avoiding Jack’s moonshots. 

Reality came crashing through the pain and haze. Laying on the floor of her so-called throne, she remembered. 

The announcement coming across all Hyperion communications. The lockdowns, the warnings. The Sheriff of Lynchwood was dead. And she was in denial. 

Denial over the death of a woman she never met.


	6. Scientific Curiosity (Lilith/Tannis)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A piece for emotionalsupportpuma on tumblr! I couldn't resist a Tannis heavy piece.

There was something odd about walking the ship without the ever-constant tingle of her powers. Lilith had done her best to quash down the feelings of helplessness and discomfort, but they were ever-present and sometimes all-consuming. She was starting to find that she was drawn more and more to the med bay. There was comfort in the constant hum of the computer and the sharp disinfectant smell, something that would normally put her on edge.

Granted, this trip wasn’t a social trip. Tannis had summoned her, ever on the hunt for more information on sirens. Today she wanted a blood sample. Normally Lilith balked at the thought, made vaguely uncomfortable about her blood in a tube. Now, there really wasn’t much of a point. And what in hell would Tannis really do with her blood? It was Tannis. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with her friends, let alone a stranger. 

Hands jammed in her pockets, Lilith strode into the med bay. Tannis was waiting for her, metal tray lined up with a sealed needle and a few plastic tubes. She was toying with a tourniquet, aimlessly pacing the bay. She hummed tunelessly. 

“Hey, killer. You called?”

Tannis jerked, snapping the rubber band. Her lips drew into a tight slash for half a second before relaxing. After a brief glare in her direction, the sirentologist seemed to relax.

“It never fails to amuse me that even without your powers, you never cease to sneak up on me.”

“Got have some kinda edge now that I’m not the Firehawk.”

Those words still hurt. The dull pang in her heart lasted longer than its usual beat. Tannis had known her as a siren for the last twelve years. She had helped Tannis cope with her own siren powers. 

Tannis seemed to have noticed the change in her. It was only apparent by the nervous way she hovered at her side. Her green eyes flicked from the ground and back up at her a few times. 

“I--”

“Don’t worry about it, Tannis. I’ll get over it. What, uh, what do you need the blood for anyway?”

Changing subjects made Tannis’ shoulders relax. Lilith knew that she had slowly picked up the ways to make communication between them easier, knew each of her little quirks. 

She casually leaned against the operating table. Tannis swept her hand in the direction of the table, a vague gesture meaning ‘sit there’.

“I’m currently researching the changes in the DNA structure of sirens-- before and after their powers settle in. And in your particular case, any structural differences that emerged from the loss of your powers. I believe it may tie into the origin of the siren kind and quite possibly the system of inheritance. Now if I could manage to get a sample of that god awful Echocaster’s…”

“You’d be in hog heaven, huh?”

Lilith rose on her toes and wriggled her way across the table until her legs dangled over the edge. She let her shoulders slump. Her toes scraped over the metal floor, making a faint dragging sound. 

It was amusing to watch Tannis set up her work space-- and work through odd turns of phrase. As expected, she caught on quite quickly.

“Ah, yes, I would be in… porcine heaven. Not that I condone that kind of whimsical thinking.”

Water splashed in the skin behind her. More tuneless humming. Lilith did a count of the seconds that passed. Sixty. A little excessive, but from what she had been told thirty was just fine-- Tannis just went for overkill. Something about not wanting to cross-contaminate her own personal biomes. 

Lilith tensed when Tannis snapped her rubber gloves. A soft curse told her that Tannis was going to have to do yet another handwashing-- she broke the glove. 

“You’re really thorough, you know?”

“Mustn’t contaminate the specimens. Or else that would just be a waste of perfectly good blood. While I am quite comfortable pulling several more tubes, I highly doubt you would tolerate it.”

“I, uh, yeah, thanks. I like to keep as much of that in me as I can.”

She was the only one that laughed. Tannis gave her a once over as she stepped up to the examination table.

“And you are certain you’re well enough for me to take this sample?”

“I’m not dying, so yeah.”

Lilith turned her head as Tannis wiped down the crook of her arm. The pinch of the tourniquet made her wince. She tried not to think about the needle. Lilith blew out a sharp breath when the needle slid under her skin. 

“Shit, that hurts.”

“You jam med hypos into you like it’s some kind of sucrose treat and this is what you complain about?”

“Yeah, well, that’s different. I don’t have the whole being shot at thing to deal with.”

“If you would like--”

“Don’t you even dream of shooting at me.”

“Noted.”

Lilith turned her gaze to her arm, only to immediately turn back.

“How many tubes are you taking there?”

For a moment she felt a tad woozy. She stared at a faint pattern on the floor. That seemed to help a little bit. Slow, deep breaths made the spinning stop. 

“Three. One for testing, one for archives.”

“Tannis, that’s only two.”

“Is it? Well, we won’t discuss the third.”

Tannis took her hand and stuffed a chunk of gauze into her fingers. Lilith pressed it to the crook of her arm, nose crinkled in mild disgust.

“Just… tell me you’re not drinking it. It’s bad enough you ate my hair.”

The sirentologist paused for a moment. She set down her markers and the tube labels. Her brow was furrowed, gaze still not directly on Lilith. 

“Why would I drink your blood? That’s… rather disgusting. I’d save that for the imbeciles on Pandora or perhaps the sycophants of Eden-6. No, I am… I’m keeping it for personal reasons which I do not feel like disclosing.”

“Ok-ay. So, uh, what do I get for signing up to be your guinea pig?”

“You will get your reward as soon as I properly store your samples. Remain seated, please.”

Lilith helped herself to a bandage from the tray’s top, sticking it over the gauze. She didn’t feel as bad after the draw as she thought she would. The tips of her toes tap against the steel floor. It was almost peaceful without the new Vault Hunters on the ship.

Tannis stepped back to her, free of her gloves and smelling heavily of soap once again. Lilith lazily lifted her head, an almost dopey sense of calm washing over her. She nearly fell off of the examination table when Tannis’ arms wrapped around her. At first she didn’t reach out to complete the hug. A tighter, more insistent squeeze made her finally wrap her arms around the sirentologist. 

“I was… quite terrified that… I.. Well, that you weren’t going to be here anymore.”

“I know, Tannis, I know. I… was scared too.”

“May I run one more experiment on you?”

Lilith flinched, but Tannis never withdrew her arms. 

“Uh, sure?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for some weird kind of medical device or for news of some other kind of godawful experiment when instead she felt warm lips press against hers. Lilith’s fingers brushed Tannis’ scalp in shock. Her heart thudded away in her chest. Well, that explained a lot. 

Tannis pulled away first, her cheeks flushed. The room was once again spinning, but it wasn’t from the three vials of blood. 

“Er, sorry, that was likely a violation of your personal space and I should--”

“Get the hell back here and kiss me again, damn it.”

Sheer relief shone through on Tannis’ face. She actually made and held eye contact for more than a millisecond. Lilith’s heart fluttered as she leaned in for a second kiss. For just one moment, it was easy to forget that she was the disgraced Firehawk. That there was a war on the planet’s surface below them. For just one moment, she was just Lilith.


	7. La Vie En Rose (Moze/Ember)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something mushy and sentimental since this shelter-in-place order has me away from my partner.
> 
> The featured song is the Edith Piaf version. The French definitely isn't accurate due to formatting issues, but I did my best.

Moze found that she was drawn to the Jackpot even after the job was done and the casino was in Moxxi’s hands. Of course, that could have solely been due to Ember. She could definitely concede to that-- the dancer had a magic all of her own. A magic that she hadn’t felt even with Amara. Even spending a night fixing up Foxxi’s was a good time.

She stepped into Foxxi’s only to find Ember bent over the sound system, humming softly to herself.

“Uh, Ember?”

“Bonjour, mes amie! I will be with you in a moment, I think I have got zis tricky little devil working again.”

Moze kept a respectable distance as Ember fiddled with wires and connectors. Her hands jammed deep into her pockets.

“So, is there anything you want me to do, ya know, to help out?”

“Non, non. You just wait there, I am almost finished.”

Moze had to resist the urge to crack a smart alecky remark. Maybe she had been spending too much time around Moxxi after all. 

The sound of a record scratch brought her out of her thoughts. A slow but triumphant score came on over the speakers. She lifted her head to find Ember stretching out a hand to her. 

“Come, dance with me.”

“Oh, no, no, no, I don’t dance.”

_Des yeux qui font baisser les mienes_  
_Un rire qu se purd sur sa bouche_  
_Voila le portrait sans retouches_  
_De l’homme auquel j’appartiens_

A twinkle danced in her echo eyes, her lips curling into a smile that made Moze’s heart flutter. 

“Is there something wrong with dancing?”

“No, I just-- I-- I’ve never really danced before.”

Ember took her hand, her other hand sliding down to her waist. 

“Come, I am an excellent teacher.”

Moze wasn’t given a chance to protest. Going against Ember was like fighting the tide, much like the way it was with Amara. But instead of a rip current, Ember was more of a gentle wave moving back toward the sea. 

Moze spent the first minute just watching her feet, trying to keep herself from stomping on Ember’s toes.

“Mon cher, you’re thinking too much. Let it all go, have faith in me.”

Shutting her eyes, she let Ember fully take the lead. Gentle pressure on her hip guided her steps, kept her on track. It was hard to tune out her mind as full as it was and yet she felt her worries and her fears start to dissipate. 

Quand il me prend dans ses bras  
Il me parle l’a tout bas  
Je vois la vie en rose

“Hey, Ember, what’s this song about?”

“It is about one of the most important forces in the universe, mon cheri, le amour.”

Moze’s brow pinched, her lips pursing. Ember’s prosthetic moved from her shoulder to her cheek.

“It is about love. Love found after a period of struggle and pain, the most beautiful kind.”

Her breath was stolen by a soft kiss, the moment all too warm, too comfortable to be real. 

_Il me dit des mots d’amour_  
_Des mots de tous de jours_  
_Et ca m’ fait quelque chose_

“You know, Amara… she never did things like this for me.”

“I do not understand why not, Moserah. You are fantastique. It may sound, how you say, silly, but my heart, she gets so happy to see you.”

Ember’s hand slid from her waist to her back, resting on the small of her back. Moze went to complain about the missing touch when Ember dipped her. The motion was so smooth, so fluid that at first she didn’t realize that she was bending. On the way back up, Ember’s prosthetic grazed her cheek, lips once more pressed to hers. 

_Il est entre dans mon coeur_  
_Une part de bonheur_  
_Dont je connais la cause_

_C’est lui pour moi_  
_Moi pour lui dans la vie_  
_Il me l’a dit, l’a jure pour la vie_

“Wow. I-- wow.” 

Ember’s chuckle had her heart flip-flopping in her chest. She hadn’t pegged herself for the kind of person that could be swayed with a dance and a kiss or the one that could die of happiness, but it certainly seemed to have happened. 

“Is, is what I told you alright?”

“Yeah-- it’s more than alright. I, you, fuck, you just, you make me happy.” 

_Smooth, Moserah, real smooth._

“It seems I will also have to teach you the language of love, petit ours.”

“Ember, you can teach me whatever you want, babe.”

Babe. The word was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She cringed. Ember’s long fingers traced over her cheek. They still kept the sway of the song, still fairly well in time, only off due to Moze losing the rhythm out of nerves. 

_Et, des que le l’apercois_  
_Alors je sens en moi_  
_Mon coeur qui bat_

“Babe? Hm, I think I could get used to that.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Oui.” 

Happiness was a weird feeling for Moze. It had always been short lived, ever fleeting. Even if that moment would burn to cinder, she had a feeling she would hold onto it as long as she could.


	8. Comfort Zone (Clay/Zane)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a request from Tumblr. And subsequently written before the DLC drop. I'm just slow to post.

Clay hated to admit that he was a little out of his comfort zone. All around him were vault hunters, friends and family of Wainwright and Hammerlock. Granted, it wasn’t a very full venue, but still, it felt weird to be dressed up in a tidy suit. And him, best man, no less. 

He found himself aimlessly wandering the reception hall, occasionally catching the eye of some other sympathetic soul that looked equally lost. These were people unaccustomed to the slow life, to the pageantry of romance and those eternal bonds. 

Normally he could wax poetic all day, but he decided to save that for a more interested, and likely, less inebriated crowd. Instead, he sidled to the bar. That was something more his speed. The whiskey was ice cold, but packed a good kick. It warmed him thoroughly. 

“I’ll have a pint, if ya would.”

Clay did his best not to turn when Zane stepped up next to him. It was hard not to notice the operative when he waltzed into a room. There was something to him, a kind of fire or even a spark. It always left Clay’s skin tingling with a buzz of tension. He grinned.

“Smooth operator, good to see ya.”

Zane’s rough hand clapped against his back. The operative wore a wide grin even before he received his pint. 

“Ye seem awfully outta place, boyo. Come with me, grab some fresh air?”

“What about our drinks?”

“We’ll take them with us, o’ course.” That wry smile was etched on his face, his good eye twinkling. 

Clay had that shuddery, twisty, tingly feeling all across his body. He didn’t have words for the sensation-- and normally words rolled off the tongue for him. Instead of taking his glass, he gulped down the glass of whiskey, earning a raised eyebrow from Zane. 

“Go easy, lad, ye don’t gulp whisky!”

“I like to live dangerously, as you know.”

Zane took his pint glass in hand, strolling casually through the crowds. At one point he summoned his digistruct clone to give them a chance to break through a denser crowd to escape outside, where their breath hung in the air. Even in the glass-walled patio, it was chill to the bone. 

Lights twinkled in the dim air, casting an almost magical fairy luminescence. Zane set down his pint on a marble table, cheerfully humming. Clay watched him studiously, taking in the casual way he moved, his surprising grace. 

“So, what’s with the change of venue?”

“Obviously, I wanted to ask ye to dance, but I didn’t want to scare ye off in front of all the others.”

“D-dance?”

That devilish little grin, made more impish by his goatee. The brilliant twinkle of his eye in the moonlight. The electric buzz between them and the warm rush the whiskey provided all made for a moment too good to be true. It only became more concrete when Zane extended a hand to him. Clay took it without hesitation. 

It was like dancing on air. They moved together like old partners, finding the beat together with ease. Zane swept him across the patio, humming his own tune for them, a more buoyant waltz than the jig that Clay had come to expect. It was almost too perfect to be true. 

It wasn’t perfect until the kiss at the very end of the dance. That truly left Clay without words.


	9. A Moment of Peace (Moze/Ember)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something sentimental I wrote during this godawful quarantine. I introduced myself with this ship and it seems I'm going down with it too.
> 
> If the French is bad, it's totally google translate.

“H-hey.”

“Bonjour, Moserah. How is Xylourgos, petit ours?”

“Ah, fuck, it’s… it’s just good to hear your voice.”

“I am very happy to hear your voice too.”

Moze settled back in the comfy chair in the corner of the lodge, sure that she was alone for the time being. Alone save for the ever-present Mancubus, who seemed quite interested in polishing the glasses that lined the bar.

“It’s… It’s not that bad here, really. Just a ton of shit going on, you know? How’s the Jackpot?”

“Mademoiselle Moxxi runs a very tight ship. But the conversion is going well, even if it means I do not rest until very late.”

“Don’t run yourself too hard, Ember.”

That musical chuckle of hers made Moze’s heart melt a little. 

“I shall try, cheri. Tell me about this wedding you are attending.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin, really. Wainwright- er, he’s one of the grooms, he picked up a possessed ring and is now going batshit crazy. We’re supposed to go and hunt down a wendigo tomorrow to try and save him. Uh, there’s a fish queen? And some detective guy that’s, well, he’s kinda sad. Nice guy, but definitely got issues. What, uh, what all is Moxx having you do?”

She could picture Ember stretched out on her bed, clad in a negligee or, more likely in this case a pair of satin pajamas, looking a little worn out. She ached to be there beside her girlfriend.

“This week we are rebuilding the security measures that we destroyed. We have already taken down all of the Handsome Jacque statues and the last of the Pretty Boy ones as well. I put the sound system of Foxxi’s back together. Mademoiselle Moxxi is helping me redesign her-- I think she will be, how you say, perfect.”

“Any word from Tim?”

“Not yet, mon cheri. It is unlike you to talk so much, is everything okay?”

“I-- god damn it. I just miss you, that’s all.”

She already knew Ember was smiling on the other line. That soft little smile that she wore whenever they shared an intimate moment. The one that had Moze hooked. 

“And I miss you, petit ours. I always do when work carries you so far.”

“I might ask them to drop me off at the Jackpot on our way back. I figured I could stay and help out with the place. You know, if the security shit is still giving you trouble.”

“Moserah, it is okay for you to say you want to visit me.”

“Force of habit, sorry.”

She settled back in her chair, watching the swirling snow outside of the lodge. Fire crackled not too far away from her. The scent of burning logs made her drowsy. 

“Maybe we should come to the Lodge one day, just, you know, us?”

“I would like that very much.”

Moze let out a breath slowly. She knew it was about time to disconnect the call, as much as she hated the thought. 

“Well, I guess I should let you rest, Ember. You, uh, you sleep well, okay?”

There was that little chuckle, the sweet, amused laugh that told her that she was being awkward again. Blood rushed to her cheeks. 

“It, it shall be hard without you, mon amour.”

“Hey, Ember?”

“Oui?”

“I love you.”

“Je t’aime aussi.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m assuming that’s a good thing.”

There was that marvelous little chuckle again. Moze felt herself grin. 

“I love you too, petit ours.”


	10. Forever (Gaige/Angel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm apparently a horrible person and immediately jumped to the downside of Gaige's return. I may have cried while writing this.

_Can you hear me say your name forever?_  
_Can you see me longing for you forever?_  
_Would you let me touch your soul forever?_  
_Can you see me longing for you forever, forever?_

_I know the light grows darker down below_  
_But in your eyes it's gone before you know_  
_This is the moment of just letting go_  
_She said, if you had life eternal_  
- _Life Eternal_ , Ghost B.C.

As much as she hated to admit it, Gaige was a tad loathe to step foot onto Sanctuary III. Just the name alone seemed to be cursed-- a ship built on the memories of the lost, the forgotten. She had tried to purge her memory of the ones they had lost, each light snuffed was a new heartache, a new scar against her optimism and hope. 

But there was one loss among the many that had gone out like a snuffed candle, memory lost save for a headstone she had carved herself. A memorial service where she was the sole attendee. Roland had a statue, one on Sanctuary, and one at Roland’s Rest. She had been at the dedication of both. And had left after the one at Roland’s Rest-- after Sanctuary fell. Even Bloodwing, the damn bird, had her own memorial. Two if she heard Mordecai right. But what about Angel? 

She should have been utterly thrilled to be among friends again. But it was so hard to be around friends again. So hard to realize they were missing so many of their number. Harder yet to know that perhaps only a handful had mourned the same loss she had those seven years before. 

Hands crammed in her jacket pockets, she wandered the hull of the spacecraft. She had poked a few pieces around in Ellie’s makeshift workshop area. Building bots didn’t seem to interest her and restlessness had her on her feet and antsy to roam. She ran when she heard Claptrap, taking a sharp turn up a flight of stairs until she stumbled onto the second deck. She only came to a stop when she remembered that one of Claptrap’s many shortcomings included his inability to climb stairs. 

Gaige’s shoulders relaxed a little as she wandered into the Crew Quarters. The other Vault Hunters’ doors were all shut- something about a job in some kind of proving ground or something like that-- while she liked them, she really didn’t pay them too much mind. Hammerlock and Wainwright were on their honeymoon, so in reality, it left her with only a handful of people she knew. Deathtrap was somewhere on the ship, probably hanging out with Balex-- it was good for her bot to make friends, after all. But still, she was left alone with her thoughts… Again. 

It wasn’t as easy to deal with these dark thoughts that crept in at the corner of her mind. She wasn’t a kid anymore so no one really took pity on her. Not like Pandora had therapists or anything like that. And then… integrating with society again was too hard. She couldn’t go back to Eden-5, couldn’t really go back to the chaos that was the war-torn Pandora. And she sure as hell couldn’t face the guilt and grief. 

With a grumble, she turned back in the direction of Moxxi’s. If she couldn’t get a margarita, she could at least get whatever it was Moxxi was selling. That had to be stronger and better for shutting up the voices of the lost. 

Moxxi’s bar… Was different than the one she was used to. It was still dim, but the neon lights actually provided decent mood lighting. Gone was the club music, replaced by something calmer, classier. Gaige felt underdressed as she sidled up to the bar.

Moxxi glanced up from a glass she was polishing. The all-too-familiar gleam was in her eyes. Normally it would make Gaige’s heart flutter just a tiny bit. She offered a wan smile.

“Heya, Moxx.”

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. It’s good to see you, sugar.”

“It’s real good to see you.”

“Flattery isn’t gonna get you a drink on the house, now.” Moxxi winked, her hand grazing over the back of hers. 

It was weird how she didn’t have to tell Moxxi what she wanted, but she accepted the cocktail without a word. A few sips told her that she was in no mood to play the liquor guessing game. But whatever it was made with, it was strong. She jammed a wad of cash into Moxxi’s tip jar and took the concoction to a booth out of Moxxi’s line of sight. 

Her cheek came to rest against a metal wall, her feet just brushing the other seat. She drank slowly, not really tasting. The bar was buzzing with hushed conversation. A slot machine jangled and clamored. Maybe here, where there was noise and people milling around, the sounds would stop? The insistent whisper. Those promises she had made when she was younger and more naive. 

_We’re not friends anymore, are we?_

She shook her head, taking a long sip of the melon cocktail. 

_You have to destroy his catalyst. You have to destroy… Me._

She drained the glass and signalled for another. Moxxi was all too happy to set another glass in front of her.

“Just start a tab. If I pass out, just take the money from me. I’m good for it.”

The bartender had paused for just a moment, eyebrow rising. But if there was a question on those painted lips, she let it pass. Gaige was thankful. 

Her second drink went down quicker. The buzz tingled down through her fingertips. She swayed a little. The cocktail was definitely stronger than DT’s margarita. She ordered a third.

_Jack ended my life long ago…_

Gaige slammed down her third drink, rising on wobbly feet. She tried to ease herself out of the booth only to fall face first onto the metal floor. She heard a crunch, tasted blood. At least the booze had the pain dulled, but she couldn’t stand. 

“Sugar, I’m cutting you off. Now come on, let’s get you to Tannis.”

Moxxi’s grip on her flesh and blood arm was firm, but far from the usual rough touch saved for unruly patrons. As soon as she was vertical, Moxxi guided her hand to her waist, steadying her.

“Shoulda told me you were a lightweight. I thought by now you’d have grown your booze legs.”

Gaige couldn’t bring herself to comment, drunk as she was. She leaned heavily on her helper, head throbbing. It took real effort to get herself up the stairs even with Moxxi’s support. They stopped several times. By the top of the flight, Gaige felt ready to hurl. 

“Almost there, Gaige.”

“Moxxi, am I a bad person?”

“Aw, hell, Gaige, now is not the time to be asking me that. But no, not any worse than the rest of us.”

The last few steps left Gaige feeling like she was fighting the tide. Her legs were leaden, blood was dripping down from her busted lip and nose. The world was a dancing, twisting kaleidoscope of noise and light. She stumbled as they entered the clinic. She was half-drug, half-carried to the examination table. She heard Tannis’ loud, disapproving sigh.

“Intoxication again? Can’t you bring me someone with complex eridium poisoning or an interesting bullet wound?”

“I’ll try to remember that next time I have someone pass out in my bar.”

Gaige’s eyes flicked over to Tannis. Faint white lines covered her forearm. Gaige thought nothing of it, letting her head loll back onto the hard cushion that made up the headrest. She shut her eyes.

_“Dad, you’re an asshole.”_

There were other things that had been said. Softer words. Shared secrets. Long nights full of giggles and camaraderie. In those first few days of Pandora, she wasn’t totally alone. Until the other Vault Hunters warmed up to her, at least she had the Guardian Angel to talk to. In those hazy days, she had a… friend. 

“I will skip all pretenses of social niceties and other supposed pleasantries seeing that we are well-acquainted. However, I did not anticipate seeing you in my clinic due to intoxicated foolishness-- at least not so soon.”

“Missed you too, Tannis.” She croaked, eyes still shut. 

Gaige flinched when she felt the med hypo slip under her skin. It was a sensation she would never get used to no matter how many times she had it done. Slowly she felt her nose shift, the cartilage and bone slipping right back into place. She took a thankful breath. Her head was clear of the drunken stupor, but that only made the voice pleading in the back of her mind even worse. 

She sat up, kicking her legs off the examination table. Her feet had barely settled on the hard metal floor when she caught sight of the curly white lines she had seen on Tannis’ arm. 

Her knees gave out, startling the xenoarchaeologist. 

“You should no longer be intoxicated-- there is no reason for you to be on the floor. Are you--”

“Those tattoos. They’re… They’re not yours.”

“Seeing that they have become part of my epidermis, as loathe as I am to say, they are in fact a part of me.”

“Those were Angel’s!” She snarled.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, heat surging to her cheeks and chest. Her metal fist clenched into a tight ball. 

Tannis seemed utterly unmoved by her. If anything, the siren had taken a few cautious steps away from her. The look on her face was a cross between weariness and wary observation. 

“Lilith had warned me that this kind of reaction was likely should we ever meet again. I can’t say that I understand your sentiments, as I have never met the originator of this power, however, I have an understanding of loss. And I am… sorry? Is that the correct phrase?”

“It’s not right! Seven goddamn years I live with this voice in my head-- I have to remember every word, every plea. But you, you get her powers and don’t know what they cost her? Why am I the only one who remembers her?”

Tannis disappeared to the other side of the med bay. Gaige pulled her knees to her chest, letting her forehead rest against her bony knees. She hugged her legs. Sometimes being a small ball helped. Sometimes.

“And that statement is where you are wrong. While I do not know Angel, I have shared some of her memories. I’ve tracked down parts of her life to better acquaint myself with whom I inherited this gift from… For your record, however, both Lilith and Maya remembered her. Maya, seemed… remorseful when she saw the tattoos-- I believe that is the term to describe her. Lilith didn’t want to be in my presence at first. And no, not because I asked for a DNA sample.”

“What’s your point, Tannis?”

Tannis emerged from her perusal of a cabinet, clutching an Echo cartridge. She pressed it into Gaige’s hands.

“I have some research on her. A full lab. This should hold the last of the data we extracted from the prototype of her chamber. I… I have some of her belongings down in the lab. While I have no room for sentimentality, I would imagine that she would want you to have whatever you find. I just hope that you don’t find any ill will toward me.”

Bleary eyed, she glanced down at the Echo and back up at Tannis.

“The lab is located in Konrad’s Hold. I have a Fast Travel Station set up in there-- take whatever you feel is necessary. I-- I don’t have anything soothing to say to you as it is out of the realm of my expertise.”

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Gaige rose. She staggered on pins and needle-stricken legs, not even giving Tannis a second glance. An Echo and a lab full of dust-coated memories. It was still more than she had been left with.  
\--

It took her a week to find the courage to venture out to Konrad’s Hold. She kept the Echo jammed deep in her storage deck, too scared to listen to what could have been Angel’s last private thoughts, those last moments of life. At least she had been strong enough to wander into Lilith’s quarters and even Maya’s room. Those losses stung, but…

Sucking in a breath she hit the travel command, flinching at the gut lurching sensation that accompanied a fast travel. Her eyes remained shut even after she arrived. Her heart rate was going super sonic, pulse thundering even in the still room. Already she could feel the prickle of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. 

One forced deep breath. Two. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The tears didn’t flow right away, not with the way everything was neatly tucked away. Dust coated every flat surface. A reactor hummed softly. There were signs that at some point the dust had been disturbed. All the doors were open. 

She didn’t really feel her feet hitting the floor. Her fingers grazed over cardboard boxes, steel crates. Every little detail. Her eyes fell on a couch and a stuffed bear. She started there.

The bear’s green fur was matted and threadbare in a few places. The LED eyes were still intact, surprising, considering how old the bear had to be. She could make out a specific pattern-- where Angel had held the bear’s paw in her hand, where her tiny fingers had once traced the grain of the bear’s fur. 

Gaige’s lips trembled as she lifted the stuffed toy and cradled it to her chest. That Angel had died long before the one she knew. She took the bear with her, aimlessly drifting along the corridors. 

Her gaze strayed to a drawing tacked to a wall. She spied familiar faces-- Brick, Mordecai, Lilith, and Roland. She touched the drawing, tracing her fingers over the freckled face dead center. It wasn’t a child’s drawing. Tears started to prickle in her eyes again. She took the drawing and added it to her storage deck, teddy bear still clutched to her chest. 

Every new drawing, every new picture brought a new surge of pain. She gathered up every drawing she could find. Every tiny little scrap. She wasn’t sure what hurt more: the artwork, the photos, or the x-rays of the ports drilled into Angel’s head. The little bear sat on her lap, still nestled close to her heart. 

Her fingers grazed over a picture of Angel as a preteen-- before the ports, before the special compression suit. Before the tubes of Eridium pumping poison into her veins. Those sad blue eyes, the chalk dusting her Hyperion raglan. In another world, they would have been normal teenagers. In another life… 

In another life, she would have been sitting with Gaige. Still laughing over their old adventures. Still flashing each other mischievous grins when no one was looking. Sharing secrets, even though by that point they would no longer be secrets. The promises they could have kept-- how much had Angel already known?

Tears freely streaming down her face, she slipped the cartridge into her Echo. She tentatively hit play, already sobbing before she heard Angel’s voice come over the speakers. It had a slightly tinny quality-- from interference, or perhaps that it was rerecorded onto a newer platform.

“I’m not even sure what I should say-- oh shit-- shoot-- I already started recording. Dam-- dang it.”

Gaige chuckled weakly through the tears.

“I guess what I mean to say is… This is my last day alive. Up until now I’ve told the vault hunters that I’m an AI. I’m not sure why I’m sheltering them from the truth-- they kill people as part of their lives, but… They’re my friends. I think not telling them that they have to kill me will make it easier for them.”

Her lips trembled as she listened to the recording. She was thankful that she hadn’t broken into sobs-- at least not yet.

“I- I hate that it’s coming to this. Tomorrow the vault hunters will be here. Tomorrow I will be free from a lifetime of servitude, but, I’m missing out on so much. So much of my life has been wasted by him. I just hope that whoever finds this… Please live for me. Experience everything you can. Do the things I’ll never have a chance to. Fuck, I never got a first kiss! Just go out there and explore the galaxy. Live a little more-- for me.”

It was like a dam waiting to burst. First came the tears, then the sobs. Gaige cried until it hurt to breathe-- and continued curled up in a ball on the lab floor clutching the ancient, careworn teddy bear. It was all she could do.

Her mind still played out images of that awful day in the control core. Still played images of a face not that much older than her own, with large sad eyes. A girl that just wanted friends. To live. A girl reduced to a memory on an echo cartridge. 

Her first love.


	11. Yaad (In Memory) (Amara)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been blasting the same song over and over again for the last few days and this is the end product. Lyrics pulled directly from their video.

_Har saas mein (With every breath)_  
_Har haas mein (With every smile)_  
_Dhadkan ki har awaaz mein (With every sound of the beating heart)_  
_Jalta amar tera diya (Your undying fire burns ever-brighter)_

_Meri yaado mein (In my memories)_  
_Meri baato mein (In the words I speak)_  
_Tu jiyaa (You live on)_  
Yaad, Bloodywood

“In Partali, we have a word that means to remember, or in memory, and that word is ‘yaad’. We cherish the memories of the ones we have lost and hold onto them-- and I think, that is something we could all take to heart. We may have lost many of our friends, but they are still here with us.”

Biting her lip, Amara brought her hand to her heart. She looked out at the gathered mourners on the bridge of Sanctuary III. 

“I may not have known Lilith or Maya well, but they were my siren sisters, bonded by fire and blood. I have lost two sisters, and many of you, much more. But we carry them with us, in spirit and in our fight. Meri yaado mein, tu jiyaa.” 

She caught Moxxi’s solemn nod from the corner of the bridge. Zane lifted a pint glass.

“Aye, that’s a fine sentiment, but I think we should be celebratin’ their lives. Enough of the long faces. Grab yerself a pint and remember our fallen friends.”

Whatever Zane had done, it worked. The crowd dispersed, friends seeking friends, others seeking comfort in the bottom of a glass or on a plate of food. 

Amara turned when a hand was placed on her shoulder. Moxxi smiled at her, despite the tear stains that marred her makeup. She wore a rather nondescript black dress and a veil, which left Amara with a sinking feeling that it wasn’t her first wake. 

“Thank you, sugar. You didn’t have to say anything, but I’m sure they appreciated it.”

“They were good people.”

“As good as they get on Pandora.”

Moxxi departed after a brief hug, scooping Tannis by the elbow and guiding her away from the corner she had huddled in. Amara’s gaze swept the deck. 

Moze was sitting on the step between levels with Ava, arm wrapped protectively around the teen. It was fairly disturbing to see the gunner without her usual helmet or in her casual uniform. Somehow the Vladof dress greys didn’t seem to suit her. Amara steered herself away from the pair, words failing her. 

Ellie slapped her on the back as she passed. 

“You did good, VH. You ‘n the others did ol’ stringbean proud.”

The unspoken words of ‘I wish she was still here’ hung on the air. It clung to every conversation, every sad face. Amara started back to her quarters-- it was becoming far too much to bear. At least in her room she could punch something until she knew how to feel again. 

Being a Vault Hunter wasn’t all it had chalked up to be. Somehow Pandora and the borderlands were even worse than Partali. It felt as though every victory was also a step back. There always seemed to be more questions than answers. And pain. Both physical and emotional seemed to tag along with every mission. Admittedly, she wasn’t cut out for that part of the battle. 

After Maya’s death, she had started shutting down. When Tannis was kidnapped, she lashed out, left a dent in the wall outside her quarters. She lost Moze that day too. 

_Look, Tiger, I can’t do this. Believe me, I wanted to make something work, but… This is war. I can’t fight both you and the CoV. I’m sorry._

“Hey, Tiger!”

Amara froze. A couple of quick, echoing footsteps caught up to her. 

“Moserah.” She kept her tone neutral as possible as Moze tapped her shoulder.

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you’re doin’ okay. That was, well, it was one helluva speech.”

“I’m fine.”

Moze pulled her hand away, lips twisted in a way that said that she knew Amara was lying but wasn’t going to call her bluff. 

“Okay, okay. You, uh, you take care.”

\--  
Amara destroyed her punching bag that night. It wasn’t what she wanted to smash, but it made do. At least in her quarters, no one could hear her screams of fury-- or the sobs that followed.


	12. Under A Spell (Moze/Ember)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request I received on Tumblr. Poor Moze, she's in over her head with such a kinky girlfriend.

Moze had her hands crammed deep into the pockets of her dress pants. If anything, it stopped her from tugging at the collar of her shirt. Getting dressed up always left her feeling antsy and agitated, but damn it, she had a hard time resisting when Ember asked her to do something. 

“So, uh, what exactly are we doing tonight?”

“We, petit ours, are going to see a private show.”

“I mean, we coulda stayed back at your place and you could’ve given me a private show all on your own.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

A hint of a smile played on Ember’s lips. Moze definitely couldn’t deny that her first thought when she saw the red silk dress was how badly she wanted to see it pooled on the floor at the foot of Ember’s bed. She was a very simple woman.

“Very funny, ma belle. But, I think you will like this show.”

“You’re not answering any questions, how do I know I’m gonna like it?”

Ember’s only response was to give her ass a firm squeeze. There was that little quirk of an eyebrow that said ‘trust me’. And she usually did.

The section of the Vice District they were walking through was somehow nicer than Foxxi’s. A few times Moze had to do a double take of the statues, heat flushing her chest and cheeks. They turned into a fairly nondescript theater. A few sign boards were posted saying that it was due to open any day with a full list of acts. Moze skimmed each listing idly as Ember tapped at the door. 

“You, uh, you sure this place is open?”

“Oui, I arranged it.”

“How private’s private, any way?”

She sniggered at the unfortunate name of a magician.

“You will see.”

Moze pulled herself away from the act list. Her palm slid down the open back of Ember’s dress, tracing the tantalizing skin. A swift but gentle smack reminded her to mind her manners. 

Moze’s heart was thudding in her breast as the door swung open. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Ember, it was that she wasn’t quite sure of what their adventures would bring. There was a certain thrill to their date nights, an element of danger. And sometimes it left her nervous as hell. But at least a theater couldn’t be that bad.

And then they stepped into the theater. In Ember’s world, a private show meant about twenty people. And Moze happened to recognize a handful of the attendees.

They were guided to a set of plush seats in the front of the theater by a woman in a sequined dress. She was all smiles as she led them front row and center. Once they were settled, Ember leaned over to her, gently popping the top snap of her shirt.

“I am very glad you chose this shirt, cheri.”

“H-hey, if you want me to behave you shouldn’t go and do that.”

Ember winked at her, eliciting a soft curse from Moze. She shifted in her plush seat, desperately trying to not think of the things that carbon fiber hand could do to her. 

The theater lights dimmed, making it even harder for Moze to concentrate on the stage. She let out a slow breath, trying to force the intruding thoughts from her mind. When she stole a look over at Ember, her girlfriend seemed smug. 

A woman casually strolled onto the stage. Her sparkly tailcoat glimmered under the stage lights, her eyes light and mischievous. She wore fishnets instead of pants, which only served to confuse Moze more.

“Ah, ladies and gentleman, tonight will be a very special show, a little thing I like to call Folie aux deux.”

The woman in the sequined dress stepped up onto the stage, pulling to chairs from behind a curtain. The smile never seemed to leave her face as she set the stage, making broad, sweeping display motions at every item added.

“It is probably not the easiest to tell, but my lovely assistant here is under a trance, a hypnotic spell. Whatever I ask her, she does. She will have no recollection of tonight and will only know that her wallet is a little fatter in the morning.”

The host chuckled to herself.

“But that is not why you’re here. We use hypnosis to tap into those more wild fantasies and remove the fear and doubt-- and shame that we sometimes feel when we seek to indulge.”

There were a few stifled gasps from the collected viewers. A bead of cold sweat rolled down Moze’s back. Ember’s hand was a solid weight on her thigh. 

_Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?_

“How about the two of you come and join me up here?” 

The spotlight felt heavy as a lead brick on her skin. Moze glared daggers at Ember as she was led to the stairs. On stage, Moze’s heart was a pulsing drumbeat. She was fine with sneaking in quickies in the Fling Springs, or even a casual fingering in Moxxi’s, but this… Just the thought of being on stage was enough to make her uncomfortable.

The assistant beckoned to the chairs, set dead center on the stage. The hypnotist crossed on long legs to Ember, kissing her on both cheeks. They exchanged brief, hushed words, which did nothing to stop the sweat collecting on Moze’s palms. Once more the hypnotist’s face was back to its performer’s mask. 

“For hypnotism to work, we need to get you both very nice and relaxed. I need you to shut your eyes. Visualize with me: you’re somewhere quiet and safe. Your heart is at ease because you are in a place that makes you happy. Your muscles are relaxed and you almost feel as though you are floating. Your pounding heart has slowed to a nice steady beat. You feel at home here. When you reach that comfortable spot, you’re going to feel all the tension drain away. Your head will get heavy and you will drift.” The words were spoken slowly, carefully, in a soft, hushed tone.

The longer the hypnotist spoke, the heavier and heavier Moze’s head got. Her limbs felt like they were on the edge of sleep, that odd heavy feeling of pre-slumber. She fought it every step of the way, but slowly her head dipped to her chest, the hypnotist’s voice coming through a fog. 

“Moserah, you’re going to feel this wild, insatiable urge come over you. You’re going to be more aggressive than ever, you’re going to take charge and put your lover in her place. You will awaken when I snap my fingers.”

Moze rose from her seat, posture suddenly more confident than she ever felt. She circled Ember’s chair, finger trailing over her cheek, over her scalp. She came to a stop in front of Ember, finger curled under her chin. Ember wore a faint smile, echoeyes practically radiating lust.

“I’m gonna wipe that smile right off your face.”

She dropped to her knees in front of Ember, thumbs hooking into the hem of her dress. She hiked the dress up to Ember’s hips, not caring how much skin she exposed. She nipped at well-toned thighs, one hand snaking around to her girlfriend’s ass, pressing her closer. 

The little hitch to Ember’s breathing when she pressed her tongue to her clit was intoxicating. Her scent, her taste, the soft moans and sighs. Nails grazed her scalp, trailed down her neck. Moze slowed her pace, drawing out each stroke of her tongue until Ember’s palm pressed insistently at the back of her head. 

“Je suis si proche, petit ours.” Ember’s voice quavered, far from the strong, almost demanding tone she was used to when her lover teetered on the brink.  
Moze pulled away, grinning.

“I didn’t say you were allowed to come.”

Ember blinked, momentarily stunned.

“Are you going to behave?”

“Oui, madame.”

Moze ran a finger down her thigh, circling her lower lips, eyebrow raised.

“Maybe just this once I’ll let you get off with just a warning.”

“Merci, madame, merci.”

There was something to see Ember squirm, seeing her cheeks flushed. Moze gave her no time to catch her breath before she was on the attack again. She wasted no time playing this time. Ember’s fingers were buried in her hair, the tips of her fingers pressing hard against her scalp. Moze scarcely breathed.

Her tongue cramped, but she pushed through the tears that started welling in the corners of her eyes. Her jaw would ache the next day. The grip on the back of her head tightened. Moze pressed her tongue harder against Ember’s clit, drawing tight circles. Ember swore, her grip shaking. Moze felt the tension mounting, felt the little arch of her lover’s legs as she tried to draw out that final, toe curling sensation. Ember shuddered when she climaxed, her body slowly loosening under Moze’s tongue.

Moze eased herself back, catching the slightly dazed look on her girlfriend’s face. 

She heard fingers snap. She blinked muzzily, touching her fingers to her wet chin. She heard something about falling into a deep rest. The questionable dampness was gone, though she had a sneaking suspicion something had happened. She shrugged it off.

\--

“So, uh… what did the hypnotist tell you to do?”  
Moze’s chest and cheeks still burned. She was mortified at her own actions-- and even more mortified to know she could be hypnotized like a complete dope. 

“I think you already know--”

“Bullshit, you weren’t hypnotized, were you?”

“Je suis desole, non. I cannot be, as you say hypnotized.”

Ember propped herself up on her good arm, Echoeyes glowing in her dim bedroom. Moze scooched a tiny bit away until her ass was almost hanging over the edge of the bed. 

“I, uh…”

“It is okay, it was the first time I have made love in front of an audience, cheri.”

“I don’t think that was makin’ love, Ember. That was fucking. And really? Cause I know you pretty well--”

“I have been nude on stage, yes, but I have never had un petit mort on stage.”

“And you’re not saying that to make me feel better.” 

Moze’s eyes narrowed, skepticism etched on her face. She studied every line of Ember’s face, her lips drawn in a grim slash.

“Of course not, mon amour.”

A long finger grazed her knuckle. Moze reluctantly moved back to her old spot, just within Ember’s reach. 

It wasn’t that bad of a date night, all things considered. Even with the residual embarrassment.


	13. Dear Agony (Lilith)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having some pretty gnarly writer's block lately. This was the last piece I wrote before the block got a hold of me. 
> 
> Unfortunately, it's another sad piece. I seem to excel at the sad stuff lately.

Lilith lowered herself into the only chair in her quarters. The backrest brushed against a wall, the fit a little tight. She eyed her bunk, feeling the creeping tendrils of exhaustion burrowing into her. But she couldn’t rest until she did one last thing. Guilt kept her from sleeping, as it always did after a loss. She didn’t sleep for a week after Roland was killed. 

Releasing a breath from her nose, she pulled up her Echo, setting it to dictation mode.

“Well, killer, I feel dumb as all hell writing this damn thing, but finally following your advice-- far too late if you ask me. I wrote a letter to Roland last night and now, well, it only makes sense to write one for you.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, tightening her lips into a grimace. She swallowed, throat suddenly tight.

“You know, Maya, you’ve always been good at pulling my head out of my ass. Keeping me from draining a six pack of Swamp Ale whenever I got in too deep. Shit, I dunno what I’m gonna do without you. We’ve been through so much over these last seven years.”

Her fingers curled into a fist, released. 

“You’ve been my voice of reason, my one real friend through it all. Because of you I cleaned myself up. Finally took control of my damn life. Hell, I still wish you had taken charge of the Raiders instead of me. I think you would’ve been twice the commander I am. But you had your reasons for leaving-- and now that I’ve seen what happened on Athenas, I can’t blame you.”

She blinked back a few tears, cursing softly. Her hand shook as she wiped her eyes. 

“The hardest thing is that I keep wishing it was me that died. I hate myself for not putting my foot down and making you stay here on Sanctuary. I’m gonna carry that guilt with me forever… A hell of a lot like the guilt over Roland-- and Brick and Mordecai leaving.”

Lilith couldn’t hold back her choked sob, doubling over her desk, shoving the Echo recorder further down its surface. Book scattered to the floor, thumping softly. Her ribs ached, her shoulders strained with the tension. Her tears were like lava streaming down her face. Her fingers curled, tapping the Echo’s screen. 

She managed to get her voice after a few minutes. 

“Maya, the Calypsos scare me. We’ve never been this badly cornered. I know the noobies can handle themselves, but that doesn’t… It’s not the most reassuring. Amara, she reminds me a lot of myself when my powers were first growing-- as if things can’t get any worse.”

Lilith rubbed her eyes, her skin puffy under her touch.

“But now I’m just rambling. I miss you, killer. And shit, I wish I would have told you how much I appreciated you when you were here. I should have told you how much I loved you. Guess I’ll never get my chance now.”

She inched her way back up to an upright position. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes sore.

“I hope I run into you on the other side when I get there. Hopefully it’s not too soon. But with the way I’m going, killer, I might be joining you before long. I… Thank you, Maya.”

Inhaling slowly, she held up her Echo. Her thumb brushed over the end command, hesitating.

“I love you, killer.”

She ended the connection, slumping back in her chair. Dry tears made her face feel sticky and overheated. She clung to her Echo, hardly breathing. While a weight had been lifted, she still felt a hollow pit in her heart. No amount of farewells or apologies would make up for the hole left in her heart.


	14. Remember Me (Tannis)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A piece left in my drafts for a few months until I could figure out how to finish it off.

Her powers whispered to her in the dead of night. They only seemed to speak in darkness, in the still hours where no one else was awake, even when she was alone. The voice was a faint crackle of static on a still winter day. A tiny voice, begging of all things, to be remembered. 

Admittedly, Tannis was no stranger to inanimate objects speaking to her. She had conversations with her toothbrush, her Echo, literally anything that would listen so long as it didn’t dare talk back-- interaction, human or not made her break into the most obnoxious of hives. And their voices were far more noxious and grating than the usual. 

Suffice to say, the tiny little voice that crackled along with the energy of her tattoos was a welcome reprieve. It slowly became a source of comfort on those long nights in her digsite. That little whispery voice, begging to be heard.

\--

She didn’t dream often. At least that she remembered. Occasionally she had nightmares about showing up to school in her underwear, which always left her with more questions than answers, because usually the underwear in question did not in fact belong to her. 

The voice of her powers was usually quiet on the nights she dreamed. 

Some nights the voice was clear and loud, that of a young woman. The only word that came to mind for Tannis when she heard the voice was sad. Perhaps even melancholy. The girl spoke little, only offering occasional advice. By morning, Tannis would forget about the lonely voice in her head-- it was drowned out by her own lonely thoughts. 

In a way, it was rather comforting when she heard that voice. The soft, girlish sound of companionship. It was even more acceptable when she realized the sound of her powers was tied to an intellectual, another brilliant mind-- quite possibly as wasted as her own talents were, if not more. 

\--

Months of solitude led her to the point where she realized she needed answers. Tannis was usually quite content with a little mystery, a little more to question. But she couldn’t sleep as long as she knew there was a slumbering voice deep inside her. A presence dancing along the sparks of static siren powers. The ghost in the machine, the deus ex machina of her inner machinations. 

It truly was a siren song, luring her into research, into the search; the answer always in sight, but yet, far out of her grasp. 

Some days, when she felt she was closer to finding the voice’s source, the girl sounded stronger. Almost as if they shared the same voice, the same body. Those days the sparks crackled and leapt from her tattoos, dancing on electronics. She seemed happier on those days. It was nearly enough to leave Tannis herself ecstatic, full of a joie de vivre that she had never experienced before.

Then came those days where it felt as though the search was futile, where the powers slipped from her control. The happy sparks grounded themselves, frying circuits. The crackle of static hurt. Tannis dared not touch her electronic companions, fearing for their safety, for their lives. The crushing loneliness would lead her to retire for the night early. Tears she wasn’t sure were truly hers dried on her cheeks. 

\--

Laid out before her was a series of drawings. The skill evolved across the spread, allowing her to estimate the artist’s approximate age. A dated x-ray only helped to clarify just how young her benefactor was at the age of her demise. 

She had seen worse on Pandora, but it never failed to leave a foul taste in her mouth. She tried to ignore the voice from the turret. And the one from the satellite. Those were far from the friendly voices of her toothbrush and her Echo. They whispered in her ear unspeakable tragedies, betrayal, and most of all sorrow. 

Tannis had largely stopped crying after her first mental breakdown on Pandora. There in her hidden lab in Konrad’s Hold, the dam burst. The dark bubblings of grief changed to almost a sense of relief. Catharsis. Strange, but oddly pleasant. 

Sitting amidst the relics of the late siren, she felt a sense of peace, acceptance. One mystery solved. One new friend acquired, even if she only spoke through the tingling powers of sirenhood.


	15. Falling Away From Me (Athena)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst I wrote for a writing challenge I did a while back. This one sat in my drive for so long I forgot what it was titled.

Glass crunched under her boots. The scent of blood hung in the air, tainting every breath. She could taste metal and gunpowder on her tongue. Her blood ran cold. Her heart thudded. She couldn't smell the old oil and gasoline smell of the garage, not when her honed senses keyed in on the smell of death. 

Gun drawn, Aspis digistructed she crept further into the garage. Old vehicle parts were strewn across the workroom floor. Not that Janey had ever been one for a clean workspace. But Janey had her system. Had her little way of making the place work. This mess wasn't one of hers. 

Athena kept low. Her pulse screamed in her ears. The rush of blood was deafening. Her breath came in harsher gasps than she had ever expected. She didn't anticipate cold sweat rolling down her spine or a building sense of dread. 

Hadn't Atlas conditioned her not to feel fear? Wasn't she supposed to be a super soldier, unlimited by nothing but her own mortality? And yet.. she was terrified as she crept closer to the source of the blood. 

Great smears covered the walls. Spatter arced and mingled with the old rust. The smell of death, fetid and sweet was heavier here. Her throat was parched but she could feel the rise of bile as she rounded the corner to the door leading to her and Janey's apartment. Up the stairs would be home. 

She didn't get past the shop's threshold when she came across the bodies. 

A psycho lay spread-eagled on the ground before her. A massive hole was blown clear through his chest. One side of his mask was badly cracked, revealing a single cloudy eye. He wasn't very big for a psycho. 

Athena refused to look up from the first corpse. She knew what she would find. Not a corpse. A body. The body of her girlfriend. She forced herself to look. 

She pivoted on the ball of her foot, rushing back into the garage. She hadn't eaten all day but her stomach was more than happy to provide acid for her to vomit. Tears streamed unabated. She dry heaved, trembling like a child. 

The image hung in her mind like a nightmare. The buzzaxe that had been so haphazardly thrown, but thrown hard enough to rend her shoulder twain. She had suffered. It was not a quick and painless death by any means. Undoubtedly Janey had tried to reach their stash of med hypos. 

She died scared and alone. In agony. Only one short flight of stairs away from help because her garage kit had run dry and money was tight that month. 

Athena rocked on her heels. She sobbed silently into her scarf. If she hadn't taken that damn job. If she hadn't insisted on hunting bounties and helping hunt vaults… They had talked about marriage only a few weeks before. About her plans for the shop and how she would expand it. 

How Athena could just do courier jobs. Or run errands. Hell, she could probably have scavenged old Atlas tech to net them a nice little nest egg. They could have had everything. 

Athena saw flashes of Jess. The look on her cooling body's face. The promises she had made and had broken through the years. How Atlas and her own bravado had brought an end to it all. 

Athena didn't look back when she threw the incendiary grenade into the shop. She slipped into the backroads of Hollow Point, blending into the shadows. Behind her she left a trail of blood and old armor. 

Her old life was dead.


	16. Obedience (Athena/Steele)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an old writing challenge. Implied dubcon.

They said that the perfect soldier wasn’t possible. Steele had her ways-- her assassins were… dare she say perfect? Conditioned to respond to orders no matter how complicated or how morally opposing. They had no morals, they simply obeyed.

Steele shuffled her stack of printouts on her platoon. She ran through the names of her Omega assassins, her finger trailing each name. Helicon, Hera, Minerva, Ceresia. She stopped at the last name. Athena. The one she loaned out to Knoxx’s Battalion. She drummed her fingers on her desk.

Steele swiveled her chair to face out of her office’s sole window. Dust motes hung in the early evening air. Troops walked by, some in formation, others on their way to bunk for the day. She pulled up the troop roster on her Echo. Athena was on base. She smirked as she pressed the page command. 

Testing loyalty and breaking her assassins was her favorite part of the job. 

\--

There was a polite tap at her door hardly five minutes later. 

“You may enter.”

If there was anything running through the young assassin’s mind, it didn’t show. She stood by the door at attention. The body hugging armored suit highlighted the tension in her frame. Her helmet was faced straight ahead, dead center on Steele. Normally they would have been trembling by that point. 

“Lock the door, soldier.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The lock clicked into place. The heavy shutter followed, activating automatically. Steele almost smiled when she saw that Athena didn’t flinch or jump at the sound. She had been conditioned well.

“Permission to speak, Commander?”

“Denied, soldier, you are here to listen.”

“Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am.”

There it was. The slightest hint of anxiety. A very vague twitch of her hands. Athena had been better than the rest. Steele idly wondered why it had taken her so long to work her way to this particular assassin. 

“Remove your helmet, soldier.”

Athena complied without a sound. A soft hiss accompanied the click of her helmet’s seal giving away. Athena pressed the helmet to her hip, still holding attention. 

Steele’s gaze swept over her, taking in her features. High cheekbones, indigo hair, lush lips. Athena was a pretty one. It would help her enjoyment of it all. The combat suit shifted on her neck. Athena had swallowed as though consumed in sudden nerves. Steele continued her hungry survey of her body.

“It has come to my attention that you have yet to finish your loyalty clause. A grievous error and lack of foresight on my end.”

Deep blue eyes went wide. Athena even paled a little.

Steele flicked a page on her dossier for effect. Athena had an incredible backlog of completed missions. If she had allowed herself to feel impressed, she would have certainly been floored. She waited a little longer to continue. 

“Und, as such, I must suspend you unless you comply. Any questions, soldier?”

Athena cleared her throat. Sweat was starting to bead on her brow. Her fists had balled. Not the entirely emotionless soldier she had desired, but Athena obeyed without question. They could always recondition her… after this meeting.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Granted.”

“I will do whatever it takes, ma’am. Anything to fulfill my services to Atlas.”

“Gute.”

Steele rose from her desk, tattoos casting off a dull blue light. The light in her office flickered.

“Get on your knees.”

Athena dropped as though magnets had pulled her to the ground. Steele was surprised when she didn’t have to drive the assassin to her knees. Athena still held her posture, still trying to hold herself proudly. 

Steele circled her, tattoos sparking with energy. A crackle of energy bounced off of Athena’s cheek. Helicon had put up a fight. Minerva submitted without a sound. Hera grovelled. Ceresia had cried. 

Steele cupped her face, peering into her dark blue eyes. She forced her jaw up until they were meeting each other’s eyes. 

“You will do everything I say without question.”

Athena very obviously swallowed. Steele put an end to that by wrapping her hand around her throat. Athena’s eyes grew wide. There wasn’t necessarily fear behind the wild look on her face. Her pulse fluttered beneath Steele’s fingers. 

Steele already felt the thrill rising in her. It had always been hard to control herself when she got riled up. It was the power and the rush of using it to show her soldiers who was in command. Being a siren only made it more exhilarating. 

She relinquished her grip on Athena’s throat, riding on a high. Her boot pressed into Athena’s sternum, driving her back. Athena didn’t buckle under the press of her weight. Her posture was still obstinately straight. Steele pressed harder, digging her heel into the armor.

Athena grunted, finally relenting when her back was bent almost completely back. Her elbows crashed into the ground, taking the brunt of her weight. Steele smirked. Too easy. 

Steele pressed hard as she could until Athena was splayed on the ground. Her heel dug in. Even the armor couldn’t stop the assassin from huffing for breath. She only relinquished after grinding her boot in. Athena gasped for air when she stepped away. 

Almost immediately Athena righted herself. Her cheeks had flushed from frustration and annoyance. She held still as death.

“Undress me.”

There it was. The dilation of her pupil. That little look of hunger. Steele made a mental note of her weakness. Oh, that was going to be absolutely delicious to manipulate. 

Athena had already inched her way forward. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle of her belt. Steele had to fight back the urge to laugh in her face. When it drug on too long, she delivered a sharp backhand to Athena’s cheek. The assassin didn’t even flinch.  
Her mind buzzed with new ideas, new ways to draw everything out of Athena. To completely and utterly break her. She had already found one weakness. There had to be another hidden somewhere. Something else she could twist and manipulate almost as easily as Athena herself. 

Steele peeled back Athena’s balaclava, dragging her nails along the assassin’s scalp. Athena groaned. Steele’s pants were only half-way off and her boots were still on. She fed off the frustration and anticipation rising around her. Any time Athena strayed or was distracted she delivered a harsh smack across her face. She hardly had to use words. That was far more thrilling than the others. 

She gripped Athena’s skull tightly, thrusting forward until there was no place for Athena to go. She felt more than heard the startled gasp. Steele had nearly forgotten how arousing it was to have a complete submissive at her feet. She lost herself in the sensation. The power rose in her tattoos, sending sparks of energy coursing through her body. Keeping focus on her physical body was surprisingly difficult. She was already so damn close. 

The personnel file. Suddenly it all clicked-- and was gone like lightning. Her mind boiled white hot. Every nerve in her body buzzed. She almost forgot to breathe. It was a pity that she had to send Athena back into the field. 

But then again, the best part had yet to come.  
\--

When she was alone once more, Steele pulled up her orders. She connected her Echo, waiting for a response.

“Knoxx here.”

“Ah, yes, General Knoxx, I have your assassin Athena who I will be sending back to you. You have orders to eradicate settlement 63-J9.”

“But--”

“You have orders, General. Eradicate the village. Or I will issue the command over your head. Heat vision only for this mission. Do I make myself clear?”

“You insufferable b--”

She disconnected the line. She knew that was going to happen. She entered a command into her Echo, broadcasting orders for two days out. She kept the dropship location locked. The ship was already being prepared for the order. Steele smirked to herself. 

Creating the perfect soldier required the right amount of abuse. The right twisting of loyalties. And sometimes, removing any and all hope.


	17. Fling Springs (Moze/Ember)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been sitting in my drafts for who knows how long. I probably need to rewrite it but I'm far too lazy/busy. 
> 
> And of course, more Mozember.

If someone would have told her back in Darazan Bay that her guilty pleasure would end up being a dip in a hot spring in the vice district of a big ass casino, she would have laughed in their faces. And yet, there she was.

Her thoughts drifted aimlessly as she soaked. Wisps of steam curled around her head, lulling her into a daze. She let her guard drop a little as her thoughts were drawn to a certain dancer. It had been… a little while since she had allowed herself to explore such thoughts. Even when she was with Amara, she didn’t really take the time to enjoy the fantasy-- not that Amara ever gave her that chance.

Whatever the reason, she liked the images her mind was supplying. They weren’t Amara’s chiseled abs or biceps, but there was definitely strength to Ember’s body. And a different kind of grace. That almost playful lilt to her voice when they chatted. She wondered what Ember’s lips would feel like on hers. Or even better yet, what would her prosthetic feel like between her thighs?

She risked opening her eyes to do another wary sweep of her surroundings. Satisfied that she was alone, she finally let herself relax fully. She picked back up on the thought of Ember’s long, delicate carbon fiber fingers trailing over her skin. That sexy accent speaking cryptic words in her ear only to rile her up more. She couldn’t fathom where she got the image of handcuffs, but she rolled with it, smirking to herself as she shifted in her seat.

It certainly wasn’t the heat of the spring she was feeling. Her fingers may have been calloused but they were good enough for the fantasy. She bit her lower lip to stifle her moans.

“Je suis desole-- I did not know anyone else came out here.”

“Ah, fuck!” She jerked her hand away, splashing herself in the face with warm water. 

_Shit, shit, SHIT. Oh god. She knows she totally knows I was, fucccckkkkk._

Ember, if anything, looked utterly amused. There was a slight upturn to her lips, a gleam to her Echo eyes that Moze wasn’t sure she had seen before. It certainly didn’t help that she was standing in front of her in a silk robe.

“Would you like some _company_ , cheri?”

“Depends on the kind of company you’re offering.”

_Well, fuck, now you’re smooth. God damn it, Moserah._

Ember lifted her eyebrows, a rather wicked little smile on her lips. Wordlessly, she loosened the belt of her robe. She painstakingly pulled the robe open, inch by tempting inch until Moze was on the edge of her seat. Moze’s heart was a jackhammer, her eyes glued on Ember. The last coy smile before she shimmied out of her robe just about stopped Moze’s heart entirely. 

It felt as though in one heartbeat, Ember was standing before her nude, and the next, she was sliding her toned thighs around her hips. Moze inhaled sharply, her nose filling with the scent of a sweet perfume and a hint of accelerant. 

“Puis-je?” Ember’s lips brushed the shell of her ear.

Moze’s breath hitched worse than when Ember straddled her. Soft lips ghosted over hers. Smooth, cool carbon fiber fingers traced her jawline. 

“Oh hell yeah.”

Ember’s lips smashed into hers, kisses hard and fast as her pounding heartbeat. Moze’s hands trailed over well toned shoulders, tracing the metal panel set into Ember’s neck.   
Ember wasted no time picking up where Moze had left off, her fingers quickly finding their rhythm. 

“Fuck! You don’t mess around, do you?”

“Non, I prefer to save that for in the boudoir.” 

“That an offer?”

Ember slid her finger a little lower, gently teasing her. Moze had to bite her lip.

“More of a promise, cheri. This, is an appetizer.” 

Her lips were tantalizing, her kisses enough to make Moze’s head spin. The pressure from her swift fingers drew the air from her lungs, leaving her panting. Moze was hardly given time to enjoy the build up.

_“Fuck.”_

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”

Ember’s chuckle in her ear started her climb to her tipping point. She bucked under Ember’s touch, panting for air. She wrapped her hand around the back of her lover’s head, forcing her into a deep kiss. 

That last little climb, the infuriatingly slow rise to the crest. Moze rocked against Ember’s hand, nails leaving faint marks on her scalp. 

_“Ember.”_ Her voice rasped, roughened by arousal.

“Viens pour moi.” Ember’s sultry tone made it all too clear that she was issuing an order and that she expected to be listened to. 

Moze knew she was coming undone. There was no use trying to fight after Ember’s command. Her hips bucked after a tantalizing stroke. Her breathing hitched. There was no way in hell something could feel that good. She fought her body as long as she could. It was a battle she was all too happy to lose. 

She sunk back, head almost hitting the stone paneling along the back of the seat. Her hips slid forward, pressing her oversensitive body closer to Ember’s. She panted, eyes rolling. The headrush left her with a stupid grin.

“God, you’re good.”

Ember’s chuckle was throaty and rich. 

“Merci, petit ours.”

“How can I pay you back?”

“I have, how you say, an idea.”

“Yeah?”

Ember’s lips were once more brushing her ear. Moze grinned.


	18. Save a Devil, Ride an Outlaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to write something where Amara gets knocked down a peg or two. I probably should have actually written the smut...

Gehenna… Was exactly what Amara had expected of it. The harsh desert sun stung her eyes, the heat dried up her throat. The first couple of creatures she encountered tried to maul her but met their doom at her spectral fists. The only thing she hated was that there was no one to witness her badassery-- she had set off first for the new planet, which, in her opinion was a damn shame. It was almost eerie to travel without the constant chatter. Her new traveling companion was largely silent, only occasionally pointing out hazards down the trail. 

Twilight was looming on the horizon and not far ahead the gulch changed. They were no longer surrounded by high rock, just the sheer drop down to the valley below. 

“Bridge out ahead, gunslinger.” 

Amara jolted to attention. Rose hadn’t spoken in over an hour.

“And what’re we going to do about that?”

Rose turned back to her, a single eyebrow lifted in amusement. 

“Well, unless you wanna try scaling the cliffs in the darkness, I’d suggest making camp for the night.”

She blew out a long sigh, which seemed to amuse Rose. So far, there was very little action and more hiking and climbing. No bounties, no glory, and hardly any fighting at all. Definitely not the start she had wanted.

“What do you need me to do?”

\--

The fire crackled from the dry timber. The air smelled of woodsmoke and dried devil meat. If the faint breeze blew just right she got a whiff of sage and sandalwood, which she assumed was Rose’s perfume. Amara idly poked the embers with a stick, watching the flames dance around the dry wood. She felt eyes on her and lifted her head. Rose was watching her in the same way Fl4k studied their creatures. 

“Something wrong?”

“Only that I’m seein’ something I want and don’t have.”

The fire sent shadows dancing across Rose’s face, highlighting the sharp green of her eyes. Amara’s throat was dry again.

“What, me?”

“You dense or something? Yeah, you. Get your ass over here and let’s put those muscles of yours to use.”

There was something in the peculiar gleam to her green eyes, but Amara was too stunned to question the sudden glow. Under the moonlight Rose’s pale skin was a temptation that she couldn’t resist. Rose whistled a soft alluring tune that broke through whatever misgivings she had, driving to her feet. 

Amara stood with the fire at her back, heart thudding as she went to make the first move. Rose’s hand shot out, slipping around her throat with the strength of a python.

“That’s cute that you think you’re going to be in charge, but out here, it’s my word that goes. On your knees, gunslinger.”

Amara sank to her knees without hesitation. Vague questions rose in the back in her mind, but they were hazy compared to her sudden need. Rose’s lips twisted into a predatory smile even as she stood up. 

Sharp nails grazed her scalp, rocking her head back. Those same sharp fingers twined in her hair and twisted, jerking her head all the way back. Amara’s blood was boiling, her heart pounding. 

“I know exactly where you can start.”

Rose’s booted foot came to rest on her breastbone, the spur digging into her skin. Amara grunted under the pressure. Rivulets of blood dripped down her abs. She reached out to caress Rose’s leg only to receive a sharp back-hand to the face.

“Start with the boots.”

\--

Everything hurt.. Her left leg was dragging in the sand, kicking up dust clouds. Her right eye had swollen shut, her lip was busted. Amara coughed after a particularly dense dust cloud, cursing to herself. Town was so close, and yet… She squinted in the harsh sunlight, trying to gauge how far the gate was from her. The heat made her dizzy. Her long since dry canteen was gone.

Amara fell to the ground, just outside the town gates. Her head was spinning, blackness edging around her vision. She swore bitterly as her nails dug furrows into the hard packed dirt. 

_I’m going to kill her._

She got her hand into town before her struggle with the heat and her injuries won. Her mind played back the previous night and early that morning, painting a rather grim picture.

\--

Water splashed on her face, jerking her from sleep. Amara turned, groaning softly. She tried to move her arms and found they were tied tightly to her sides. Her canteen thumped on the ground beside her head. 

Rose kneeled down beside her, a smirk set on her lips. 

“You know how I said it’s survival of the fittest out here, gunslinger? Now’s your chance to prove it.”

“What--”

Stars exploded behind her eyes when Rose’s pointed boot smashed into her head. She tried to break free of the rope, but even her spectral arms couldn’t break through. Panic set in as the next kick centered on her ribs. 

“And don’t you go breakin’ my ropes on me. They’re made to handle angry devils, but I guess they work for sirens too.”  
Amara tried to roll away from the spur that grazed over her abs. A quick glance to the right told her that any more movement would send her toppling to her death. She rolled to the left, flinching as metal dug into her skin. Rose’s boot came to rest on her breastbone, the spur digging deeply into her flesh. 

“Dumber than you look too. Gehenna’s gonna chew you up and spit you out. Pity, you were a pretty picture laying bare last night.”

The force of Rose’s kick made her teeth crack together, filling her mouth with blood. The rope cut into her skin, leaving grooves wherever it rubbed. Rose backed off as though she was growing bored or tired. Amara took the reprieve to attempt to move away from her captor, inching further away from the ledge.

A new blinding pain shot up her leg. Eyes wide with horror she looked down at the blade lodged in the front of her calf, along the bone of her shin. 

“Figured I’d leave you with a parting gift so you don’t forget me.” 

Rose’s laughter echoed even after she passed out.


End file.
